


Something Different

by Kithri



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithri/pseuds/Kithri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for episode 4x13. Well, Diane *did* tell Alicia to try something different...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Different

Alicia launches herself out of the elevator before the doors have even finished opening, the explosive motion catching me a little off guard. She strides purposefully across the garage, her heels clicking like gunshots on the tarmac, so that I have to hurry a little to catch up with her. I do so just as she reaches her car and starts fishing around in her handbag, presumably for her keys.

I stand there for a moment, watching her, sorting through and rejecting several possibilities in turn as I try to figure out what to say.

It's just the two of us down here with the shadows and silence. Everyone else is still at the party, busy celebrating Lockhart and Gardner's stay of execution.

And all their soon-to-be partners.

So, here we are.

Here is Alicia, so gracious and polite to all the partners upstairs, her facade cast aside like yesterday's garbage the second the doors closed between her and everybody else.

(Everybody but me.)

And here I am, watching her, trying to think of something to say that will, somehow, make it better. Or at least stave off the disaster I can feel lurking ahead of her if I let her drive away like this.

It shouldn't be this hard. I can usually find a word or two to suit. But this is... difficult. She's so angry right now. The tight line of her mouth, the stiff way she holds herself, radiating a fury she rarely ever lets herself show.

I can't help but remember the only other time I've seen her anything like this mad.

And... yeah.

I might not be the target this time, but just the memory of it hits me like a punch in the gut, throwing me right off my game.

Stupid. So stupid. Unbelievably pathetic.

Get it together, Kalinda. You're better than this.

A jingle of metal. She's found her keys, and is glaring at them as if they've personally offended her.

And there it is: the course of action I've been looking for.

Reaching over, I pluck the keys from her grasp. It's laughably easy, but then I do have the advantage of surprise. She stares at me with an expression of shocked anger -- possibly angry shock, it's hard to tell -- with a side-order of utter bewilderment. The sight of it stirs my imp of the perverse, and I give into the temptation to twirl the keys around my finger like a prize.

Because that's the other thing about her anger: it's so beautiful.

"What," she asks slowly, "are you *doing*?"

I resist the urge to give her the pedantic answer.

"You've had a few drinks and you're angry," I say instead. "Not a good combination for safe driving." I pause for a moment, but she doesn't respond, just staring with eyes that seem to bore right through me. Cautiously, I continue. "How about I drive you home?"

"I'm. *Fine.*" The words seem to come out through gritted teeth, low and fierce.

(And, god help me, hot as all hell.)

I quirk an eyebrow at her and wait.

Moments pass. I start counting breaths. One. Two. Three.

The elevator hums into life. Someone must have called it from upstairs.

Alicia snorts. "You think I'm drunk? *I* think I'm not nearly drunk enough." She points at me. "And *you're* going to help me fix that." She turns her hand over, cupping her palm. "Keys."

I narrow my eyes at her. She rolls hers in response.

"I'm not going to drive," she says, impatiently. "I'm going to put them back in my purse and call a cab. The cab will take us to a bar. We will both proceed to get completely, utterly and obscenely *shitfaced*."

I blink at that last word, the strongest I've ever heard from her. She smiles tightly at my reaction, her eyes glittering.

"Then," she continues, "Another cab will take us home to our respective beds. Our cars can keep each other company here tonight." She takes a step towards me, keeping her eyes on mine. Her voice softens a little, losing some of its commanding tone. "Is that acceptable to you?"

I don't have to think about my answer.

I just drop the car keys into her waiting palm.

 

* * * * *

 

I drop my pen onto the table and reach for another sheaf of papers from the stack in front of me. Ah, the glamour of an investigator’s life. Still, I suppose it pays the bills. Which reminds me, I need to have a talk with Will. But I should finish going through these papers first.

My thoughts are interrupted by footsteps in the hallway, light and quick as they pass by the open door of the meeting room. I look up, distantly noting the way my neck twinges at the motion. I need to stretch more.

And then all other thoughts are driven completely out of my mind.

Alicia is hurrying down the corridor, almost running into the wall before correcting her course at the last moment. She looks... The expression on her face is strange. I can't figure it out. Is she upset? Is she... Has she been crying? Cary approaches her, says something; she barely even seems to see him, brushing him off while barely breaking her stride.

By the time she rounds the corner and passes out of my line of sight, I'm already up and moving, hurrying into the corridor just in time to see her step into the waiting elevator. I open my mouth to call out to her, but then she turns around and I just freeze in place.

She's smiling.

She's smiling so brightly it seems to light up her whole face. Her eyes shine. Her whole body is aglow with... with happiness.

Happiness.

She's happy.

I don't think she sees me standing there, hand raised, mouth open. I don't think she sees anything other than whatever vision of heaven is hanging before her eyes right now. She's lost in a world of her own.

A world in which she's happy.

I let my hand drop, drinking in the sight of her for as long as I can before the doors close between us. And even after I can't see her any more, the image is still crystal clear in my mind.

Her smile.

Her joy.

And I feel an answering smile curving my own lips, spreading across my face.

Alicia is happy.

I don't know why she's happy, but I don't need to know.

She's happy.

And that's wonderful.

 

* * * * *

 

"So, they've offered to make me a partner."

Alicia's words come out of the blue, the cab ride so far having passed in relative silence. She'd spent most of the short wait for the cab on the phone to her kids and, briefly, with Peter. Checking in with them, checking up on them... I don't know.

I do know that she managed to very neatly give all three of them the impression that she was still at the party, however.

Is this -- am I -- her dirty little secret?

I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that. Not that I have any right to complain.

I nod at her announcement, mustering a smile. "So I heard. Congratulations," I offer, because it seems like the right thing to say, even after everything that's happened between then and now.

"Seems I'm not the only one," she adds, and turns to look at me with narrowed eyes.

"Heard that, too," I say, answering her unspoken question. She searches my face for a few moments, then nods to herself, settling back in her seat.

We spend the rest of the journey in silence.

 

Alicia pays the cab fare, despite my protests.

"I dragged you out here," she says. "It's only fair."

"But..."

It's no good; she's already handing over the money as I'm reaching for my wallet, flashing the driver a smile that could melt steel as she tells him to keep the change.

He looks a little stunned as he thanks her. I don't blame him at all.

 

When we enter the bar, Alicia continues as she apparently means to go on by commanding the attention of a barman and all-but ordering him to open a tab.

"We'll have two tequilas to start with," she says. The barman nods and reaches for a couple of shot glasses, pouring the drinks expertly. "Thank you!" Alicia trills, picking them up." She starts to turn away, but then pauses. "Actually," she says, thoughtfully. "Why don't you just go ahead and send us a bottle. Thank you so much." She winks at him, and then turns her attention to where I'm pulling out a stool at the bar. "No, I don't think so, Kalinda. I think this evening calls for something a little more... sturdy. And private." She nods, decisively. "Follow me."

She starts threading her way through the crowd.

And, what else can I do?

I follow her.

 

We end up ensconced in a tiny little booth at the back of the bar. Another couple of people spot it at the same time as we do, but Alicia just blithely manoeuvres in front of them with a bright "Excuse us!" and a brilliant smile and puts her drinks down on the low table. I give them an apologetic twist of my lips and a one-shouldered shrug as I duck by, but I'm not sure that they even notice.

Alicia puts her bag down and shrugs out of her coat, folding the garment carefully and placing it on top of her bag before she sits down. I follow her lead, taking the seat across from her.

We look at each other.

"So..." I start to say, but she holds out a hand, stopping me in my tracks.

"Drink first," she says, simply, commandingly. "Talk later." She picks up one of the glasses, looking at me with raised eyebrows until I take the other. "Cheers," she says, raising her glass towards me.

"Cheers," I echo.

We carefully clink the glasses together and then each down our shots. I hold back a wince at the burn of the alcohol.

Alicia pulls an exaggerated face. "Wow," she says.

"Yeah," I agree.

"I needed that," she murmurs, setting the glass down with a click. Suddenly, and without warning, she just throws back her head and laughs, her whole body shaking with it. People nearby turn to look at her, drawn by the throaty, resonant sound.

I wonder if they can hear the notes of bitterness woven through it, or if that's just a gift for me.

I sit there watching her, feeling a little awkward, not knowing whether or not I'm supposed to join in. I don't think so, but...

I don't know what she wants from me.

Her laughter finally subsiding, she sighs and wipes her eyes. I can't help noting that she manages not to smear her still-immaculate make-up. Even her lipstick looks freshly-applied, making her lips glisten in the dim light, making them look plump and soft and...

(kissable)

... soft.

"Six. Hundred. *Thousand*. Dollars," she says, softly, her lips twitching like she's about to start laughing again. She doesn't, though. "That's the buy-in for each equity partner. Six hundred thousand dollars." She looks at me expectantly, like she's waiting for me to response. I sit up a little straighter under her scrutiny, unable to help myself.

"It's a lot of money," I offer.

She nods vigorously, apparently pleased. "Isn't it though? David f... David *Lee* doesn't want me to think so, but it is! It really, really is. Five of us. Six hundred thousand dollars each. That's three *million* altogether. Three million dollars." She shakes her head, seeming to deflate a little somehow, sagging a little against the back of the seat. "I can see how they'd be tempted."

I don't have to ask who 'they' are.

I clear my throat. "I don't think it's just the money," I say, tentatively. Too tentatively. I make my voice stronger, more certain. "You're a good lawyer, Alicia. A very good lawyer. You deserve this promotion and they know it."

"Do they?" she says, picking up her glass and staring thoughtfully into its emptiness. "Well, you know what I know?"

"What?"

"I know that I need another drink. Where's that bottle...?"

 

"He did not!" Alicia giggles -- actually giggles -- reaching out to prod me lightly on the shoulder as she shakes her head at me. "You are a filthy rotten liar, Kalinda Sharma!" I pull back a little, wincing internally as I study her face, but she just smiles at me a little lopsidedly and goes to poke me again.

She doesn't mean anything by it.

She doesn't.

I have to believe that.

I smile at her, which takes a little effort, but she doesn't seem to notice anything's wrong.

"I'm telling you, it's true. Scout's honour."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Were you even a scout?"

I surprise myself by winking at her and leaning forward to whisper in her ear. "I could tell you," I say, "but then I'd have to kill you."

She laughs, and it warms me through to hear it.

I don't remember how we even got started on this subject -- dirty laundry of the equity partners -- but it seems to be helping. The anger is still there, I think, but she doesn't seem quite so much like a coiled spring, ready to lash out at any second.

That's a good thing, isn't it?

I shake my head to try to clear some of the fuzziness, eyeing the bottle to try to work out how much we've had.

"Are you drunk?" Alicia asks me.

"No," I say, utterly deadpan.

"Good," she says, giving me a decidedly evil grin. "That means it's time for another drink..."

 

"David *fucking* Lee," Alicia snarls, knocking back her shot and slamming her glass on the table so hard I'm worried it might crack. "And don't even get me *started* on Diane. Sulking, really? I was fucking *sulking*?" She makes a sound that I think might actually be a growl, snatching up the decidedly less full tequila bottle and looking at it like she's seriously contemplating skipping the glass altogether. "I'll show her *sulking*," she mutters.

Moving with exaggerated care, she pours us each another shot. Dully, I can't help but feel impressed at how little of it she spills. Relatively speaking.

"I'm not sure that's wise," I say. Well, try to say. Much to my surprise, the words come out as a low mumble. I clear my throat and try again. "I'm not sure that's wise."

There. Much better.

Alicia squints at me. "Are you wimping out on me? Trying to chicken out of this shot?"

"No, no." I wave my hand at her. "Sulking. Not wise. Especially for an equity partner."

"Hah!" She curls her lip in disgust. "Fucking equity fucking partners."

A strange noise escapes my throat.

Great. Now she's got *me* giggling. I'm almost as drunk as she is!

"You're swearing," I note, sagely. "You don't normally swear."

"I'm not normally this fucking mad," she says, shaking her head and then wincing. "Oh."

I blink at her. "You're very drunk."

"Am not." She scowls at me. I smile at her and pick up a glass.

"Okay, then. You know what that means."

She draws herself up straight, snatching up her glass. "Fine," she says, her eyes glinting dangerously.

"You started this," I feel compelled to point out.

"I don't care who started it," she says, enunciating the words very clearly and carefully. "I am going to finish it. So come on. Drink up." She leans forward, smiling. "Unless you're chicken," she breathes.

I return her smile.

"Bottoms up," I say.

We both drink.

 

* * * * *

 

I pause before Alicia's office, trying to put my thoughts in order. Trying to make up my mind whether I should tell her what I know. 

She's not the only one who's been offered partnership in the firm.

After seeing her looking so... so... *illuminated*, I had to ask questions. I had to know why. I had to know what it was that brought her such well-deserved and long-overdue joy.

Finding out what was going on hardly took any effort at all.

People do so like to talk.

But I found out a little more than I wanted. I found out that, including her (and Cary), a total of five fourth year associates have been offered the opportunity to become partners in Lockhart Gardner.

Adding their six-hundred dollar capital contributions to the beleaguered firm's finances.

Three-million dollars' worth of breathing room certainly isn't to be sneezed at, and I can see why the partners would agree to it, but what is it going to do to the associates who thought they were being raised up purely on their own merits?

What is it going to do to Alicia?

My heart almost breaks at the thought of seeing her smile dim, her light fade. Betrayal and self-doubt filling her large, expressive eyes. Her full, red lips twisting in bitter disappointment.

And then, because I know her, the inevitable wave of sheer, unalloyed rage.

If I could protect her from this knowledge, I'd do so in a heartbeat, but I can't. It's not like this is going to stay a secret forever, and better she finds out from me than from the office grapevine.

Or worse, from David Lee.

I heard him laughing about the look on her face when he told her about the capital contribution. Chortling like destroying something as beautiful as Alicia's joy was the biggest joke in the world.

(I've half a mind to show him what it feels like from the other side, but that would hardly be a wise thing for me to do.)

(Besides, is David Lee even capable of feeling something as pure as joy? Schadenfreude isn't exactly the same thing.)

(But I digress.)

Alicia needs to know about the other promotions. I was going to tell her, was on my way to just do that in fact, when... I glance at the blue paper in my hand, half-wishing I could set in on fire with the power of my mind. Not that it would help in the long run.

Maybe now isn't the best time.

Maybe.

Still feeling conflicted, I make myself move forward until I'm standing in her open doorway. She's facing away from me, and I take a moment to just drink in the sight of her as she scans through the file she holds in manicured hands.

Red is most definitely her colour.

But I have a job to do.

"Alicia," I call softly. She turns around to face me, an enquiring look on her face. For a moment, I think I'm going to tell her after all, but then I chicken out before the words can come out of my mouth. She doesn't need the distraction right now. We're meeting with Neil Gross' lawyers coming up soon, and that's likely to get pretty ugly. And then there's this...

I hold up the piece of paper, trying to show sympathy for her predicament in my eyes. "You've been subpoenaed."

Afterwards. I'll definitely tell her afterwards.

 

* * * * *

 

Alicia pulls her coat more tightly around herself and shivers.

"It's cold," she complains. "Aren't you cold?"

"A little," I admit. I jump a little when she leans her body into mine, and we both wobble, clutching at each other for support. Somehow, we manage not to fall.

Okay, maybe we're both a little worse for wear.

Luckily, the cab shows up then. This time, I take the initiative, giving the driver Alicia's address before she can say anything.

"It makes sense to do it this way," I tell her. "Your place is closer. Besides, it's my turn to pay."

I expect her to protest, but all she does is stare at me as the cab pulls away. "Fine," she grinds out, eventually.

Foolishly, I actually believe that's the end of it.

 

We spend the ride to Alicia's place mostly in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I'm paying attention to the route, of course, but only distantly. Mostly, I'm wondering if she's going to be okay. Should I offer to see her up to her apartment? It's not that I think she's too drunk to make it the short distance from the street to her door, but I just...

I can remember what it's like to come back to an empty apartment when you've had a bad day, when it's not what you want. When it's not what you need.

I'm still thinking it over when she turns to me and asks: "Want to come up for a bit?"

The words are spoken carelessly, her expression a smiling mask that tells me nothing.

"Are you sure?" I ask, carefully.

She snorts with something that sounds like humour, and her eyes soften a little.

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure," she says, somewhat tartly.

"Then, sure."

She nods, touching my shoulder lightly. "Good."

 

"Make yourself at home," Alicia calls over her shoulder as she hangs up her coat and carelessly kicks off her shoes. "I'll make some coffee."

I hang my coat up, but my boots stay on. There's 'at home' and there's 'at *home*.' I'm assuming she meant the former.

(And I'm not at all disappointed by that.)

I step into the living room, intending to take a seat, but then I change my mind and head straight through to the kitchen, leaning against the wall to watch as she fills the machine.

"Need a hand?"

She jumps a little as I speak, spinning around so fast she starts to fall. I automatically move to catch her, but my timing's a little off so I end up bowed over backwards, Alicia's weight pressing my hips into the kitchen island, her chest -- her breasts -- flush against mine.

Our lips are so close I can feel the heat of her breath.

I freeze.

Time seems to slow almost to a crawl.

My pulse is loud in my ears, so loud I'm almost surprised the whole apartment doesn’t echo with the sound.

Alicia's eyes are wide and startled, but something stirs in their depths, something dark and strange and powerful.

A lock of her hair has fallen forward, across her cheek. I have a sudden urge to reach up and brush it back, to cup her face in my hands.

But I can't. I know I can't.

Slowly, she lowers her hands, bracing herself against the edge of the surface biting into my back.

She's going to push herself up.

She's going to move off me, away from me.

She's going to laugh a little awkwardly, and so will I.

One of us will make a joke about being drunk.

I'll say that maybe I should go, that I'm worse for wear than I thought I was, and I should probably go home to sleep it off.

She'll agree, and she'll say we'll have to do this another time.

I'll nod, or say 'yeah,' maybe give her a smile.

And I'll leave.

And that will be the end of it.

Except...

Except she doesn't lean back.

She leans forward.

And she...

Kisses...

Me.

She kisses me.

Her lips are soft on mine, and gentle, almost tentative.

I can't help but gasp a little at their touch.

And then her other hand is clutching the back of my head, and she's kissing me hard, kissing me like she wants to devour me whole, kissing me as if her life depends on it.

And I...

I kiss her back.

Her lips part, and I slip my tongue between them, seeking hers. She moans deep in her throat, the sound sending a shiver through my body. I curl my fingers around her hips, pulling her tightly against me. She moans again.

This is a bad idea.

I know this is a bad idea.

I shouldn't be doing this.

*We* shouldn't be doing this.

But for the life of me I can't remember why.

I'm not sure whether she bends backwards, or I lean forwards, but suddenly we're upright again. Upright, and making our slow, stumbling way into the living room.

It would be easier if we broke the kiss, but the very idea of that seems ludicrous. Unthinkable. Crazy.

Unfortunately, gravity disagrees.

One moment, we're lost in each other, exploring each other with our mouths.

The next moment, the world is tilting sideways and we're falling.

I yelp as my hair is tugged sharply, feel my elbow jab into something soft and hear Alicia draw in a sharp breath.

We collapse onto the couch with a thump, landing in a sprawling tangle of limbs and just lying there for a moment, stunned.

"Ow," breathes Alicia, the sound barely audible.

I lift my head, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"I'll live," she says, looking over at me. "I think my dignity took the worst of it. You?"

"The same."

We look at each other, and then away. I don't know what to say. I don't...

How did this even happen?

How did we end up here?

How did...?

Oh.

How did I end up with Alicia's hand on my breast?

As soon as that realisation hits, the light pressure is swiftly withdrawn. I risk a quick peek to see Alicia staring at her hand as if she doesn't recognise it.

I keep back a groan, wondering if there's any possible way we can somehow salvage this situation.

"So," I say.

"Well," she says, at exactly the same time. She laughs a little nervously. "After you."

"Um," I say, articulately. "Shall we try to disentangle ourselves?"

"Yes. Okay. Um. How?"

"Let's just..."

"Oh, right."

We start moving. I keep my eyes averted from hers, trying not to think about where my hands are, or about the fact that her skirt has somehow ended up pushed almost to her hips.

Oh my god. She's wearing stockings and suspenders.

I have to swallow suddenly, and the sound seems loud in the relative quiet of the room. I lick my lips, and suddenly realise that she's watching me, an expression of utter fascination on her face.

"I don't want to get up," she says, softly.

I blink stupidly at her, knowing that she can't possibly be saying what I think she's saying, that she can't possibly know what that sounds like to me.

"What?" I ask, my stomach fluttering.

Slowly, Alicia sits up, reaching one hand out tentatively to touch my face. I freeze in place, barely even daring to breathe, hoping against hope that...

But this can't be real.

It can't.

"I want to finish what we started," she says.

And she kisses me again.

Rational thought escapes me for a while. All I can focus on are the sensations.

She kisses me hard, so hard it almost hurts, so passionately that it almost takes my breath away. I meet her ardour with my own, catching her lower lip between my teeth so that she shudders against me.

Her hand finds my breast again, but this time it's no accident. Her touch is light at first, hesitant, but gaining in confidence as I moan and arch against her. I tangle one hand in her hair -- so soft to the touch, just as I knew it would be -- and slide the other up her thigh, trailing my fingers lightly over the soft skin, squeezing the curve of her ass through her panties.

She jerks against me, and it's all I can do not to hook my fingers in the thin material and yank them down.

But...

But...

Although it goes against everything my body is screaming at me right now, I pull back from her, gasping a little for breath, trying not to think about the way the small, disappointed sound she makes seems to go right to my core.

"Alicia, are you sure?" I ask, my voice breathy and low. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes!" she says, almost growls.

God help me, it's all I can do not to fall on her right now and fuck her senseless.

But she's frowning like there's something she wants to say, and so I still my hands and make myself wait as patiently as I can.

That isn't much.

"Are *you* sure? Do you really...? I mean, I don't want you to do anything you don't want..."

I kiss her.

"I want you, Alicia," I say, as clearly as I can manage.

She looks at me for a long moment -- a long, frustrating moment -- and then nods once, her eyes darkening.

"Good," she says, her voice raw with need. "So come back here and prove it."

And I do.

 

* * * * *

 

I should have told her.

That thought runs through my mind, over and over again, an endless litany of blame and castigation.

I should have told her, even though it might have distracted her during the meeting and thrown off the whole game plan.

I should have told her, even though it might have put her off her game for the extension hearing.

I should have told her, even though any mistakes or missteps on her part might have been traced back to me. (And whatever else can be said about me, I *am* a survivor.)

I should have told her after her little chat with Will and Diane, the one that she came out of so stiff and closed-off, even though she was hurrying off to the hearing and I would have had to run full-tilt down the corridor to catch up with her before the elevator doors closed.

I should have called her, even though this wasn't the kind of news that should be delivered over the phone, and especially not while she was driving.

I should have told her.

But it's too late now. What can I say? That I knew, but didn't tell her when I had the chance? That I stayed silent when speaking might have made a difference?

(That I failed her, again?)

No.

All I can do is try to pick up the pieces. To be there.

To make sure nothing like this blindsides her again.

So I stay behind at Lockhart Gardner while the high-ups celebrate the fact that they've kept the wolves from the door once more, that they've bought themselves another stay of execution. I'm not invited to the party, and neither is anyone else below the rank of about-to-be-partner. Or trustee.

That's fine by me.

Alicia should be there, networking with the great and the good, but she's in her office, allegedly working.

Allegedly.

Which isn't to say that the *isn't* doing work, but that's not why she's in her office, rather than at the party. I think about going to see her, but I'm not sure what I'd say.

Congratulations? The real world sucks? Let's burn this whole thing down and toast marshmallows over the flames?

No, best to just to keep my distance for the moment.

I raise my eyebrows a little when Louis Canning -- the Enemy -- stops by her office for a chat. He's nominally here to sign the extension contract, but apparently that's not his only reason for stopping by. This could just be a courtesy call, but somehow I doubt it.

Alicia's face is hard, her spine stiff as she looks him in the eye like she's daring him to do something outrageous. He hands her something in response. A small white rectangle. A business card?

His business card?

Interesting, but not entirely unexpected. As far as I can tell, Canning respects talent, and Alicia certainly is talented.

He's tried to recruit her before, so I'm hardly surprised that he's trying again.

He takes his leave while I'm wondering if she's going to accept his offer. This time. On balance, I don't think she will. Not right now, anyway. Maybe sometime down the line, sometime in the future.

No sense in worrying about it unless it happens.

But it couldn't hurt to keep an eye on their future interactions. Just in case.

Oh, look. Another visitor.

I'm not surprised that Diane, rather than Will, is the one to come and tell Alicia to get out there. I can't hear what she's saying, but I don't have to. Alicia's face and body language tell me everything I need to know. Diane is pointing out a few harsh realities, as she sees them, stressing the importance of playing the game.

The game that Diane plays so well, even as she despises it.

I look at the two of them together and I wonder. Is that what Alicia has to look forward to? A lifetime of compromising ideals for expedience?

(Like she hasn't *already* made those kinds of compromises, just to get to this point in her life.)

(Like *I* haven't done that and worse, far worse, in the name of survival.)

I like Diane, and I respect her. And it isn't like she *hasn't* managed to cling onto her ideals.

Some of them, at least.  
Would it be such a bad thing for Alicia to become more like her?

(More like me?)

I know it's stupid, but the thought gives me a melancholic pang.

I dismiss it as irrelevant. It's all just speculation at this point, anyway. It isn't like her whole future is going to be decided in one single night, one single conversation. And even if it is, what business is it of mine?

Diane leaves, apparently having made her point.

Somehow, I am less than surprised when, a few moments later, Alicia stands up, straightens her clothes, puts her game face on and follows her.

Part of me wonders if Diane knows what she's done here, what she and Will have wrought between them. And the rest of the partners, technically, but they don't count. Not for this. It isn't as personal for them.

And Alicia, well...

Alicia takes things personally.

I watch her smile and laugh, and say all the right things to all the right people, and I wonder if any of them see what I see.

Her anger.

The endless glasses of wine.

She isn't exactly knocking them back, and I certainly wouldn't say she's getting wasted, but anytime she's not talking, she's drinking. Slowly. Steadily. Determinedly.

This... This isn't good.

So I wait for her, keeping half an eye on the party as I work my way methodically through my seemingly endless pile of paperwork. When she makes her excuses -- politely, graciously, perfectly -- and leaves, I put away my work and gather my things.

And when she heads for the elevator, I'm there to step in beside her just as the doors start to close. She turns to look at me, and I meet her politely neutral expression with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile.

"Going down?"

 

* * * * *

 

Afterwards, we lay there together on the couch amidst an impromptu nest made out of our shed clothes, sweaty and satisfied.

I'm still wearing my boots.

Her request.

She's still wearing her suspenders and stockings.

My request.

Our bodies are intertwined, wrapped comfortably around each other; my arm across her middle, her leg over mine. Our hair is spread out on the pillow, mingled together.

She unfastened my hair herself, combed her fingers through it so that it fell around my shoulders. She seemed to like the effect.

I listen to the sound of her breathing, slowing and evening out. Mine does the same, my heartbeat no longer thundering in my ears.

I feel... at peace. Content. Caught in the space between moments.

I don't let myself think about what happens when the moment breaks.

My eyelids flutter slowly closed.

And I let the stillness stretch.

Alicia laughs, suddenly. She moves against me, her skin sliding over mine, sparks of electricity arcing through my body at the sensation.

Suddenly, my heart is beating quickly again.

I open my eyes to see her propped up on one elbow, looking down at me with a smile on her face and a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"What is it?" I ask, reluctant to speak but curious to know what she's so amused at.

"Something Diane said," she says, shaking her head. The ends of her hair brush lightly over my shoulder, so that I have to suppress a shiver.

"What?" I ask again, wondering if I'm going to have to drag it out of her one piece at a time. Because I can think of several rather fun ways of doing that...

"When she told me about my promotion." Alicia rolls her eyes a little, but she doesn't lose her good humour. "She told me to go out and do something I'd never done before. Something different." She pauses for a moment, lowering her voice a little as she speaks the next words. "Something special."

I don't let myself think about anything more than the surface meaning of her words. 

Don't let myself feel. 

Don't let myself hope.

Hope is dangerous. 

Hope is treacherous. 

Hope chews you up and spits you out.

So I stretch languidly, looking up at her with an arched eyebrow. "Oh?" I drawl, filling the word with soft humour. "Is that what this is?"

She holds my gaze for a breath or two, her brow furrowing a little. "I don't know," she says, softly, then suddenly darts forward and kisses me lightly, sweetly, on the lips, sitting up again before I can even think about reacting. She smiles impishly.

"I guess we'll have to find out."


End file.
